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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510873">(come back) if you can hear my heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticnik/pseuds/seungsiks'>seungsiks (galacticnik)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>VICTON (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Han Seungwoo's Family, Hanse is there as a cat, Inspired by Kiki's Delivery Service, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:41:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,370</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticnik/pseuds/seungsiks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Seungsik moves to Yangwon at the age of thirteen, meets Seungwoo, and falls in love in the four years it takes for Seungwoo to leave town. </p><p>Fifteen years later, Seungwoo is back, and Seungsik is still in love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Seungwoo/Kang Seungsik</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Director's Cut Fest Round 1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(come back) if you can hear my heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <span class="small">very loosely inspired by the movie <i>kiki's delivery service</i> and written for the director's cut fest. i don't think i managed to quite match the ghibli feeling, but it was a fun exercise nonetheless! this is self-edited and i am <i>very</i> tired, so please forgive any mistakes!</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">thank you so much to the mods for hosting this fest ♡ y'all have done a really lovely job!</span>
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seungsik moves to Yangwon at the age of thirteen with nothing but the clothes on his back, an envelope full of money, and the company of his beloved black cat familiar, Hanse. </p><p>It takes seven hours to reach the town by broomstick. Eight, if you stop for lunch on the way there, which Seungsik does at the behest of his growling stomach. Hanse complains about the delay, but they arrive in Yangwon before dark in spite of it, wide eyed and optimistic about the future. </p><p>Yangwon doesn’t have a witch. Its residents don’t seem opposed to the idea of one, as far as Seungsik knows, but neither are they actively seeking any to join their sleepy rural community. It’s perfect for him—accepting, but without the pressures that might otherwise come with it. All Seungsik has to do now is show the townspeople that him settling down here would be a <em>positive</em> for everyone involved. </p><p>He spends the first night at the local inn, huddled under the covers with Hanse while they brainstorm ideas for what kind of service Seungsik can provide the good people of Yangwon. Most witches utilize their specialties—his friend Chan is good at charming objects, for example, and set up at the back of an antique shop in a bustling port city after his thirteenth birthday. </p><p>But Seungsik doesn’t <em>know</em> what his specialty is. He likes plants, and he’s adept at healing, but Yangwon has a doctor already, a stern older man with an imposingly bushy mustache. Hanse tells him that doesn’t matter, but Seungsik doesn’t want to step on any toes.</p><p>He runs out of money to stay at the inn after four nights. The owner is kind enough to let Seungsik keep his room as long as he helps out around the place, but he overhears her talking to the staff about having to rearrange bookings to leave the room free for him and decides it might be better if he leaves. “I’ll be fine, miss!” he says with a bright grin, all youthful confidence and bluster. </p><p>But there is nowhere else to go aside from the sole inn. Seungsik wanders around town with his broomstick in hand and Hanse weaving through his legs. His shoulders slump in dejection when he only comes across dead ends. To add insult to injury, it starts to rain, big, fat droplets splashing against the ground and soaking Seungsik to the bone.</p><p>Hanse nearly claws his way up Seungsik’s leg in his desperation to escape the downpour. Coaxing him off, Seungsik tucks his broomstick under his arm and runs across the street to the relative safety of a store awning. It provides some shelter from the rain, but the wind still cuts through him. Wet droplets fly through the air as Seungsik shakes his hair, the lump in his throat solidifying, when—</p><p>“<em>Whoa</em>,” a voice says, alarmed. It’s not Hanse; Seungsik whips around to see a boy around his age huddled underneath the same awning, holding a dirt-stained football. His dark hair falls over his eyes, dripping onto his white tank top. He has a band-aid on his cheek; the edges curl up in the humidity, revealing a barely-healed scar underneath, but the boy doesn’t seem to care. His eyes are openly curious as he runs them over Seungsik. </p><p>This is how he meets Han Seungwoo for the first time: shivering, his clothes plastered to his skin, eyes wild and red-rimmed from tears mingled with the rain. Seungsik clutches his broomstick to his chest with both hands like a weapon, or a shield. “Sorry,” he chokes out.</p><p>“It’s okay,” the boy says with a shrug. “I was already wet.” He peers up at the sky with a frown. “When it slows down, I’m going to make a run for it.” Glancing at Seungsik out of the corner of his eye, he hesitates before asking, “Are you okay?” </p><p>He says the first thing that comes to mind: the truth. “No.” Seungsik casts his eyes upward. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” It’s raining, and he’s tired, and he doesn’t have any money. There’s nothing left to do but fly home as a failure, but Seungsik can’t even do that. Brooms don’t fly when they’re wet, and his is drenched. </p><p>“Oh.” The boy turns to him and rubs his chin. “That sucks.” Hanse hisses at him from between Seungsik’s legs, as if to say, <em>yeah, don’t rub it in</em>. The boy briefly grins at the black cat before looking back at Seungsik. “Then,” he begins, holding his free hand out, his teeth flashing white in the dreary landscape. “Come home with me.” </p><p>Seungsik stares at his hand for a long moment. The rain slows around them, and time along with it. The boy waits patiently, his smile never wavering.<em> Just take it</em>, Hanse whispers, digging his claws into Seungsik’s skin. <em>Take it, take it, take it—</em></p><p>He reaches forward and takes it. The boy’s hand is clammy and cold to the touch, but his eyes are warm, warm, <em>warm</em>. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fifteen years later, Seungsik is still living in Yangwon. </p><p>He runs an apothecary on the outskirts of town—it’s a comfortable little cottage perched on a cliff and overlooking the sea, close enough that he’s a part of the community, but far enough removed that he isn’t overwhelmed by what goes on in town. The trek from the residential district to his place is a little under ten minutes, compared to the twenty it takes to reach the clinic, so he still sees plenty of business. </p><p>There are rare plants growing deeper into the forest his cottage backs onto. On weekends, Seungsik takes Hanse into the woods to forage, planting whatever he brings back in his garden for future use. Hanse’s gotten bigger over the years too; he’s almost the size of a herding dog now and prowls around the property like an overzealous guardian spirit. He no longer speaks to Seungsik, but his company is still a comfort. </p><p>For the most part, Seungsik is happy. <em>Content</em>. His life has settled into a routine, he’s a valued part of the fabric of Yangwon, and he feels like he’s carved out a place for himself that he can call home. It’s almost perfect, except that—</p><p>Fifteen years later, Seungwoo is nowhere to be found. </p><p>Seungsik can’t fault him for leaving town. He did the same, abandoning his cold house and distant father using ‘witch tradition’ as an excuse. At least Seungwoo is transparent in his desire to escape the confines of their small town, desperately chasing a dream Seungsik can’t fully understand. </p><p>“Settling down in this place is what you’ve always wanted, Sik,” Seungwoo says before he leaves, gesturing around them to the verdant fields and squat houses with a wry, close-mouthed smile. “But it’s not what <em>I</em> want.” </p><p>“What <em>do</em> you want?” Seungsik asks quietly. </p><p>“What do I want,” Seungwoo repeats, inclining his head towards Seungsik. There’s something heavy about his gaze, something carefully restrained. It’s impossible to read, slipping out of his grasp as Seungwoo shifts away. Spreading his arms out, he tips his head back. “The world,” he answers finally, inhaling deeply. The sea breeze lifts his hair, sends strands of it dancing, and Seungsik tears his eyes away from Seungwoo’s profile, squashing the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that wished for Seungwoo to want something different. </p><p>“I see.” Maybe he does; Seungsik’s fine with just a hearth and a home, but Seungwoo’s always hungered for more. At their core, they’re different people, pulled in separate directions. “Well, safe travels. I hope you achieve all your dreams, hyung.” </p><p>“Thanks.” Seungwoo lets his hands fall back to his sides, blinking. His gaze slides to meet Seungsik’s, and behind the confidence, he catches a hint of uncertainty. Seungwoo opens his mouth to say something else, then swallows and shakes his head. They continue to stand together in silence, then Seungwoo nudges Seungsik with an elbow and says, “Take care of my family for me, will you?” </p><p>“You can count on me.” </p><p>“I know I can.” The smile Seungwoo gives Seungsik is sincere; it lights up his eyes, his whole face, and pulls an answering grin from Seungsik. Slinging an arm around Seungsik’s shoulder, Seungwoo pulls his head in close, pressing their cheeks together. “I’d trust you with anything, Sik. You’re my best friend.” </p><p>Seungsik turns his face and laughs into Seungwoo’s neck. “Give me a shout out when you become famous.” </p><p>“Do you even need to ask? ‘Course I will.” </p><p>Summers in Yangwon are balmy, the heat offset by the cool sea breeze. Despite the warmth, Seungsik shivers and presses himself closer to Seungwoo, his eyes fluttering shut. </p><p><em>Remember me</em>, he thinks, <em>and come back someday.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Somewhere between his late teens and early twenties, wishful thinking fades. Optimism gives way to realism, and Seungsik stops waiting for Seungwoo to come back to Yangwon. What scraps of information he has about Seungwoo come from his mother or from the brief interviews of his Seungsik catches on the television. He subscribes to a sports channel just to have the option to see Seungwoo play if he wants to, though he rarely utilizes it. </p><p>After fifteen years, the least he can do is move on. The <em>only</em> thing he can do is move on and stop holding his breath for something that isn’t going to happen. </p><p>And then it does, because when Seungsik returns to his cottage with a basket full of dried herbs one morning, Hanse in tow, Seungwoo is standing there in the middle of his shop, looking around with muted interest. Hanse yowls at the sight of him and jumps in front of Seungsik, but Seungwoo isn’t bothered as he spots them—by Hanse’s size or his hostile intent. </p><p>“Hey,” Seungwoo says, his lips slowly stretching into a warm smile. The years have been kind to him; in many ways, he hasn’t changed. He’s filled out more, probably as a result of all the physical conditioning, and his hair is longer than Seungsik has ever seen it in the past—or on tv, for that matter. But otherwise, he’s too familiar. Seungsik’s heart constricts, stutters, and he suddenly wants to <em>laugh</em> at how fifteen years changes little. “You’re still around?” </p><p>“You sound surprised.” Seungsik sets the basket down on the counter and glares at Hanse to stand down. He does so reluctantly and curls up on his bed by the door, but keeps his yellow eyes trained on Seungwoo. “Witches rarely leave the towns we settle in. Once you’ve connected with the land and the people, saying goodbye isn’t really an option.” </p><p>“I just thought,” Seungwoo begins, fidgeting, then stops. “Right. Well, it’s good to see you, Sik.” </p><p>“What brings you here?” </p><p>“Ah, Mom said you were renting this cottage and I didn’t fully believe her.” He brings a hand up to rub the back of his neck, avoiding Seungsik’s eyes. “I just thought she wanted me to live at home rather than move up here.”</p><p>It takes Seungsik a moment to process. “You wanted to—you’re back?” The words sound faint to his own ears, like they’re coming from someone else. </p><p>“Yeah. Knee injury. I can’t play professional football anymore.” Seungwoo exhales and lets his hand fall back, answering the unasked question. “The city was starting to feel kind of suffocating and lonely, so I thought I’d come back home.” His smile turns rueful as he rests his hip against the counter. “But after five minutes of being surrounded by well-wishers and gossiping aunties who ‘know a nice girl’, I felt like I had to escape.” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seungsik says. He’s apologizing for taking up space, for Seungwoo’s injury, for his unrealized dreams and the old hurts hidden behind the brittle veneer of his deliberately casual expression. </p><p>“You’re always sorry for things you don’t need to be.” This time, Seungwoo does meet his eyes, and there’s a change here too—maybe he’s just tired, but Seungsik finds traces of vulnerability lurking in his expression, exposed like a raw nerve. </p><p>His heart presses against his ribcage. Seungsik’s teeth sink into his bottom lip. The gap separating them is small; it would take less than a heartbeat to cross it, but he can’t. He <em>shouldn’t</em>. </p><p>“So what is this place?” Seungwoo breaks the silence first, glancing around. “What do you do here?”</p><p>“Oh, um.” Seungsik tears his eyes away and begins sorting out the basket of dried herbs as he talks. “It’s an apothecary. I make medicines here—potions, poultices, so on.” The neat little piles of herbs blur together the longer he stares at them. “Some of the townspeople call me a healer, but I can only take care of the little things. If it's something serious, I tell people to visit the clinic instead.”</p><p>“That’s… amazing, Sik,” Seungwoo says, sounding genuinely impressed. “Just like you always dreamed of, huh?” </p><p>“I suppose.” Guilt wedges itself into the empty cavity in his chest at the thought of having achieved his dream when Seungwoo’s have been wrenched from his grasp. “The doctor and I try to work together when we can. He sends minor cases over to me and I pass over new medicines for him to trial.”</p><p>Seungwoo nods and studies one of the shelves near him, his eyes passing over the neat labels. “Got anything for insomnia?” he asks finally, looking at Seungsik over his shoulder. </p><p>“I should.” It's on the shelf just above Seungwoo's head, but rather than trying to direct the other man to it, Seungsik emerges from behind the counter and reaches around to grab the pouch himself. His arm brushes against Seungwoo’s shoulder, and it’s a point of pride that Seungsik doesn’t react to it. “Put this under your pillow before you go to bed,” he says, dropping it into Seungwoo's open palm. “It should help you sleep through the night.”</p><p>“Really,” Seungwoo’s looking at him, not skeptically, but with a different sort of expression entirely, stuck somewhere between fond and apprehensive. He hefts the pouch of magically infused potpourri and brings it up to his nose to take a tentative whiff. “I’ll let you know how it works. How much?”</p><p>“It's on the house.” Before Seungwoo can argue, Seungsik waves him away. “It's hardly a big deal. Think of it like a welcome back present?”</p><p>Seungwoo's fingers curl around the pouch. “I'm not sure I deserve one,” he says, swallowing. “It took me a long time to come back.”</p><p>“Take it anyway,” Seungsik says. “It comes from the heart.”</p><p>“The heart, huh?” Seungwoo looks, for a second, like he's going to laugh, then seems to think better of it. “Mom wants to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night,” he mentions instead, shoving the pouch into his pocket. “She keeps saying she misses her favorite son.” Catching Seungsik's eye, he winks. “To clarify, I mean <em>you</em>. You are her favorite son.”</p><p>Seungsik flushes. “I doubt that.”</p><p>“If Jiyoung wasn't the absolute worst and <em>around</em>, she would've married you off to her. No lie.”</p><p>“Your sister would <em>kill</em> you if she heard that,” Seungsik says seriously, but the corners of his mouth twitch. “I'll drop by. It's a Friday, anyway.”</p><p>Seungwoo nods and turns to the door. “Nice seeing you again, Sik,” he says, then adds, almost wistfully, “You've grown taller.”</p><p>Something about his voice and the ghost of a smile flitting across his face turns Seungsik’s mouth dry. Fifteen years, Seungsik thinks, and Seungwoo can still make him feel all the awkward longing and tenderness that comes with a first love. </p><p>Fifteen years, and he still hasn't moved on. </p><p>“Welcome back, hyung,” is all he says. Seungwoo falters, then gives him a short wave before stepping out of the building. </p><p>As the door shuts behind him, Hanse raises his head and fixes Seungsik with a pitying look. “Don't say a word,” Seungsik growls, choosing to ignore the fact that Hanse can’t. With a sigh, he drags both hands down his face and slumps against the counter. “I’m not going there again.” </p><p>Hanse doesn't need to speak to convey his disdain. <em>Yes, yes you are. You’re halfway there already</em>, his smirk says. </p><p>Seungsik hates that he’s right. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Over the years, he's spent a lot of time at Seungwoo's house. </p><p>The first time is the night with the rain, with a grumbling Hanse and Seungwoo’s slightly cold hand dragging him in through the front door. Seungwoo’s mother accepts Seungsik readily the moment she sees him shaking at the entrance, her arms immediately wrapping around his frail body as she coos, “You poor thing.” </p><p>Seungwoo’s older sisters are distantly curious, but know better than to pester Seungsik with questions. Or perhaps Seungwoo gets to them first and asks them not to bother Seungsik too much. Either way, he’s grateful. His father is also careful in his concern, with a gruff sort of kindness Seungsik doesn’t know how to respond to. It’s all overwhelming—in a <em>good</em> way, definitely, but too much nonetheless. </p><p>Once he’s peeled himself out of his wet clothes, Seungwoo lends him a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt to wear. They’re too big on him; Seungsik has to roll the sleeves up to his elbows and hike the pants up as high as they can go to keep them from sliding down. He waddles over to sit beside Seungwoo at the table, nervously eyeing the food. </p><p>Dinner is a muted affair; the Han family are gracious hosts. Seungsik alternates between inhaling the food and answering the cautious questions Seungwoo’s parents lob his way. They’re surprisingly well-informed about witches, so their inquiries aren’t as awkward as they could be. “Before I got married and moved here, I was good friends with the witch in my town,” Seungwoo's mother explains. “She had a fortune telling business. Big hit; it was busy all the time.”</p><p>“Fortune telling is popular,” Seungsik agrees. It would be easier if he could tell fortunes too, but… “My mom was a witch, but she died when I was young,” he says after a heavy pause, and watches everyone’s face contort into the familiar mixture of discomfort and pity. “I didn’t get to learn stuff like fortune telling or rain calling.” Whatever he knows about being a witch is innate or scavenged from other people. </p><p>“I don’t know a lot about all this,” he continues, looking down at his bowl. “But I <em>do</em> know it’s important to set out on your own after you turn thirteen and find a town to settle down in.”</p><p>“I did think you weren't well prepared to set out on your own.” Seungwoo's mother gives him a sympathetic smile from across the table. Her eyes are misty. “Your father didn't help you out?”</p><p>Seungsik squirms in his seat. “No.” When he was younger, he used to think his father was too preoccupied with grief to pay attention to him. Later, he realized his father just didn’t care much for the witch offspring his deceased wife left behind. Fleeing him and the house Seungsik grew up is a relief, and he absolutely does not want to go back. “I wanted to make it on my own.” </p><p>“You’re only <em>thirteen</em>. You don’t need to have it all figured out, dear.” Seungwoo’s mother doesn’t sound dismissive, just concerned. “You know,” she begins, trading a loaded look with her husband. “You can stay with us.” Before Seungsik can answer, she turns to Seungwoo, who is busy cleaning up his plate. “Seungwoo doesn't mind sharing his room, does he?”</p><p>Seungwoo starts and throws a leg out, accidentally kicking Seungsik in the shin, who tries very hard not to wince. “No, I don't mind,” Seungwoo says after a pause, sounding like he minds. </p><p>“That's okay!” Seungsik says quickly, “I can sleep outside... in the park. It stopped raining.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly.” Seungwoo’s mother’s tone brokers no argument. “Seungwoo, give him your bed for tonight. Your father and I will go shopping for a cot and clothes for Seungsik tomorrow." </p><p>Later, after dinner, Seungsik follows Seungwoo to his—<em>their</em>—room with his head bowed. “I’m really sorry,” he says, lingering by the doorway. </p><p>“S’okay.” The last of Seungwoo’s disgruntlement seems to have faded. “I’m the hyung. I should be able to give up my bed for a night.”</p><p>“But I—“</p><p>“Hey,” Seungwoo pauses in the midst of pulling a pair of pajamas out of his drawer. “You didn’t personally kick me off my bed. My mom did.” He throws the pajamas at Seungsik, who catches them clumsily. “But I don’t want you sleeping on a bench or something. I bet Hanse doesn’t want to either.” </p><p><em>He's damn right I don't</em>, Hanse yawns and curls up at the foot of the bed. </p><p>"Stop saying sorry for things that aren't your fault," Seungwoo adds with a frown. </p><p>"Thank you," Seungsik says miserably. </p><p>Seungwoo crosses the room and drops his hands onto Seungsik’s shoulders. He’s taller by a few inches, and Seungsik has to tip his head back to meet his eyes. He tries to smooth his expression into a smile and almost gets there. “That’s better,” Seungwoo says, then abruptly pinches his cheeks. </p><p>"<em>Ow!</em>" </p><p>“Smile for real!” Seungwoo points to his own grin and waits for Seungsik to mirror it. He does, so hard that his cheeks hurt. “You’re part of the family now,” Seungwoo continues, still holding onto Seungsik’s cheeks. “I’m not thrilled about sharing my room, but my sisters are annoying and always gang up on me, so it’ll be nice having another guy around.” He lets go and takes a step back. “What I’m trying to say is—I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p>“Oh,” Seungsik blinks. His eyes are really itchy today; he rubs them with the back of his hand. “Me too.”<em> I'm glad you're here. </em></p><p>He stays with the Han family for seven years after that. Eventually, Seungwoo’s mother finds a cottage for Seungsik to rent out when he expresses a desire to move out and helps him with the initial deposit. But leaving their home doesn't mean vanishing from their lives; he keeps in touch. Seungsik drops by every week with medicines for Seungwoo’s father’s aching back and his mother’s migraines, looks for excuses to enjoy her cooking and helps fix things around the house, babysits Eunbyul and befriends Sunhwa's husband with ease. He maintains his place in family pictures. </p><p>The Hans feel like home—the only home he’s known all his life. </p><p>But his eyes often drift to Seungwoo’s empty place at the table, and the occasional nights he spends in his and Seungwoo's shared room at the Han household never feel the same. Seungsik watches cracks of moonlight peer through the window and bites the inside of his cheek. </p><p>The words are lodged in his throat. <em>I wish you were here.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Friday night dinners at the Han house are a regular thing. Seungsik is a veteran of them now; they’re usually composed of him, Seungwoo’s parents, and Sunhwa’s family—her, her husband, and four year old daughter, Eunbyul. Occasionally Jiyoung when she’s in town, but that happens less and less frequently. </p><p>Seungwoo is the only unknown variable. Seungsik’s heart rate picks up when he answers the door, a part of him not expecting Seungwoo to still be here. The man who visited his apothecary could’ve been a ghost or a mirage—but Seungwoo is solid. <em>Real</em>. He’s dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. Seungsik’s eyes fall on the black knee brace before shifting back to his face. </p><p>“Hi,” he says. “I brought you something.” </p><p>“Yourself?” Seungwoo's eyes crinkle into a smile, then widen when they see the bag in Seungsik's hand. “Wait, actually?” </p><p>“It’s nothing big. Just some tea.” Seungsik steps past Seungwoo and slips off his shoes. “It’s a mild pain reliever. Should help with your knee. It won’t heal anything, but I hope it’ll lessen the hurt.” </p><p>Seungwoo stares at him for a long moment, then looks down at the bag. “Thanks,” he says thickly. “I—<em>thanks</em>. You didn’t have to.”</p><p>He makes a humming noise in the back of his throat at that. </p><p>Falling into conversation with Seungwoo’s family is easy; he saw them all the week before, and it’s simply a matter of picking up old conversational threads. Eunbyul clings to his side, asking him where Hanse is with beseeching eyes until Sunhwa’s husband lures her away to play. </p><p>Seungsik uses his newfound freedom to help set the table. It’s routine, instinct. He knows where everything is and how Seungwoo’s mother likes things done. Seungwoo watches him bustle around from his seat at the table, forced by his parents to remain stationary on account of his knee. “Seungsik knows this place better than I do now,” he says conversationally. </p><p>Seungsik starts and almost drops a plate. “S—“</p><p>“That is because Seungsik is a <em>good</em> boy who visits all the time,” Seungwoo’s mother interrupts, reaching up to pat Seungsik’s cheek as she passes by. “Unlike <em>someone</em> who can’t even come home for Chuseok.”</p><p>"I sent money,” Seungwoo protests, without any heat. He falls silent under the receiving end of his mother’s glare, but grins around her at Seungsik to make it clear he’s not actually sulking. “Well, I’m glad Seungsik is here for you.” </p><p>"I keep praying he'll rub off on you one day." </p><p>His glass partway to his mouth, Seungwoo chokes on water, or perhaps just air. “Yeah,” he says, strangled, then adds more quietly, “I <em>knew</em> I heard that wrong.”</p><p>Dinner is comfortable. Boisterous, but not overwhelming. Seungsik tries to stay behind to help clean up, but Seungwoo’s mother smiles dangerously and says her son can do that now that he’s home. But she doesn’t send Seungsik away empty handed; his arms are laden with packed side dishes as he promises to return in a couple of days for hotpot. </p><p>Seungwoo follows him to the door, but instead of closing it behind him, he steps out into the night air and meanders along the path at Seungsik’s side. There’s a slight nip to the air tonight, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the cold in the same way Seungsik is. “Thanks for taking care of my family,” Seungwoo says suddenly, coming to a halt at the end of the path and shoving his hands in his pockets. </p><p>Seungsik stops as well and draws his coat tight around him. “They take care of me,” he says quickly. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”</p><p>“There is.” The stars are bright overhead tonight. Seungwoo pulls his hands out of his pockets and crosses his arms over his chest, scuffing his shoe on the packed dirt. “I feel like I owe you for a lot—not just <em>this</em>—but that I’m not going to be able to repay you for any of it.”</p><p>“I owe you my whole life.”</p><p>“Sik,” Seungwoo’s eyes are soft, warm. “Your life is your own.” He hesitates, then ventures, “If I’ve ever—held you back or stopped you from moving on, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”</p><p>He knows what Seungwoo is talking about, his off-hand remark to Seungsik to take care of his family for him, not expecting Seungsik to actually take it to heart. Part of him is offended; Seungwoo should know him and his stupid sense of responsibility better than that. But part of him wants to say, <em>that wasn’t for you</em>. “I stayed because I wanted to,” Seungsik says. “That was my choice. I <em>wanted</em> to. I want to.”</p><p>Being in love with Seungwoo was unrelated, entirely separate, though that was his choice too. He’d wanted that. Maybe he still does. </p><p>Seungwoo reaches out to brush his thumb over Seungsik’s cheek—or nearly does. His hand hovers just above Seungsik’s skin, close enough that he could close his eyes and pretend Seungwoo did make contact. But before he can lean into the touch, Seungwoo pulls away with a tired smile. The dull sting of disappointment spreads through Seungsik’s chest. “I guess I should respect that. I just—“ </p><p>Seungsik’s eyes sting. He’s not sure why. It could be the biting wind, he thinks, tipping his head back and blinking forcefully. “You know,” he says. “You’re not the centre of my world, Seungwoo.” </p><p>“Feels like I was, once.” </p><p>“Once,” Seungsik agrees. “Then you left, and I had to figure out how to live without you.” </p><p>“I’m glad you moved on,” Seungwoo says, but there’s a tension to his smile matched by the melancholy edge of his gaze. </p><p>“Yeah,” Seungsik lies. “I am too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>He writes Seungwoo a letter after he leaves, on the eve of his twentieth birthday.</p><p>Three pages, double-sided, filled with observations, anecdotes, saying <em>I miss you</em> without actually writing it down. Love confessions wrapped in shared memories, in innocent questions, in thinly veiled desperation to know—<em>do you think of me? I think about you. </em></p><p>Seungwoo doesn’t write back. Seungsik imagines his letter lost in a sea of mail, only to emerge years later at the bottom of a pile of envelopes marked ‘return to sender’. Years later, he thinks maybe Seungwoo won’t write back because he’d come on too strong. That somehow everything Seungsik keeps bottled up in person spilled onto the paper and Seungwoo doesn’t want to reject him plainly because he’s too kind or because he doesn’t want things to get awkward.</p><p>He sends a postcard next, a final attempt at communication. <em>Sorry. I’ll try to stop loving you. Please come home sometime. Your mom misses you. </em></p><p>Hanse looks at him, irritated, when he returns from the post office. <em>Is he worth all this?</em> he seems to ask. Seungsik digs the heels of his palms into his eyes and says, “I'm not sure.” </p><p>Seungwoo doesn’t reply to the postcard either.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Seungwoo returns to the apothecary for a refill for his insomnia problem a week later. “You were right,” he says, grinning as he slouches against the counter. “I've had the best sleep of my life this past week. I’ll take a box of these—not on the house this time. Let me pay you for your hard work.” </p><p>“You can have a discount,” Seungsik says, ringing him up. </p><p>“Don’t get soft on me, Sik. You need to be more mercenary.” Seungwoo reaches forward to mess up his hair, chuckling as Seungsik lets out a soft groan and shifts away. He touches Seungsik a lot more often now, the same casual, light sort of presses Seungsik remembers from their early years together, free of later baggage. They still make his heart race, though. “You’re running a business.”</p><p>He laughs and gives Seungwoo a generous discount anyway, and when Seungwoo isn’t looking, he slips a few extra pain relieving teas into Seungwoo’s bag. </p><p>“You’re an angel, Sik,” Seungwoo says, blowing him a kiss on his way out. </p><p>Hanse stopped talking to him sometime between fifteen and sixteen, but he’s filled with judgmental stares nonetheless.</p><p>“I told him I would stop loving him,” Seungsik says, winding his fingers into his fur. “Don’t look at me like that. I <em>have</em>.” </p><p>In spite of his insistence, Seungsik ties the ribbons on Seungwoo’s pouches of potpourri with a little more care than usual and reserves his sincerest, brightest smiles for when Seungwoo walks in through the door. The days start to seem more dazzling whenever they get a chance to talk, his pulse fluttering rapidly as he chases the sight of every single smile of Seungwoo’s. </p><p>He wants to pull at his hair and pinch himself until he stops feeling whatever he’s feeling. With Seungwoo near, he feels like exploding, like there's a love potion running through his veins and turning him stupid. Seungsik never wanted to return to this, but it’s more like he never left. </p><p>But in Seungwoo’s eyes, Seungsik has moved on. Seungsik wants him to believe he’s moved on. He hasn’t, not even close, and fifteen years after Seungwoo left him behind, Seungsik is still helplessly, hopelessly in love with him. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about my sister using you as free babysitting service,” Seungwoo says, peering down at Seungsik, who is currently holding hands with Eunbyul and singing a nursery rhyme about ladybugs. </p><p>They’re in the backyard of the Han house; Seungsik is cleaning up the garden while Eunbyul supervises and occasionally ends up getting dirt on her dress. Sunhwa and her husband are out shopping, the elder Hans are asleep, and Seungwoo is not supposed to be here. “I told her I could do it,” he continues, giving his niece an adoring smile.</p><p>“I like watching Eunbyul.” At the sound of her name, she giggles and wraps her arms around Seungsik’s neck. “We’re friends.”</p><p>“I’m going to marry Seungsik oppa when I grow up,” Eunbyul declares. </p><p>Seungwoo laughs. “She definitely seems to like you,” He joins Seungsik in the grass a moment later, his hands fisting around a clump of grass and dirt. Eunbyul plays around with them for a while, then runs away with a shovel and a bucket to ‘dig for treasure’. Seungsik and Seungwoo watch her attack the ground with gusto in silence, until Seungwoo breaks it to say, “Thanks for the tea.” </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“It helps,” he continues. “My knee doesn’t hurt much these days, except for when it’s supposed to rain.”</p><p>“I’m glad it worked.” They’re close enough that he could reach out and take Seungwoo’s hand if he wanted. “It’s the least I could do for you.” </p><p>“You already do too much.”</p><p>Seungsik pulls out a weed and sits back on his heels. “You keep saying that,” he says. </p><p>“I guess I just can’t figure out why. I keep telling myself you’re just that <em>nice</em>, but that can’t be it. I mean, I think you’re supposed to hate me.” Seungwoo lets out a self-deprecating chuckle and runs a hand through his hair. “You should.”</p><p>“I never hated you, Seungwoo.”</p><p>“Why not?” Seungwoo’s voice hardens. He grabs Seungsik’s hand, and the trowel he was holding falls to the ground. “Please don’t tell me it’s out of a misguided sense of responsibility.“</p><p>“No, it’s because I’m in love with you,” Seungsik says, matter-of-factly. He hates how easy it is to say, how relief sweeps through him the minute it’s out. Hanse would laugh at this, then call him an idiot. Maybe he is one. Maybe this will backfire in the worst way possible. </p><p>But god, he couldn’t have kept it in for much longer. He’s fairly sure Seungwoo already knows, since he’s told him a million different ways, but to say it just once—<em>just once</em>. “I want you to be happy. I want you to feel <em>good</em>. I want to take care of you the way you took care of me for so many years.”</p><p>Seungwoo’s expression is impassive. Smooth. Seungsik’s feelings crash against him like water hitting a stone wall. “You don’t love me, Sik,” he says evenly, measured. “You just feel—I don't know, <em>gratitude</em> towards me. It can’t be love.”</p><p>“I’m a grown man, Seungwoo.” Gratitude—sure, he thinks, he does. A part of him will always feel that. But this is more than simple thanks; it’s a long-simmering fire in his belly, refusing to die out. “Don’t presume you tell me how I feel about anything. Especially not about <em>you</em>.” Seungsik stands and wipes his hands on his pants, swallowing roughly before continuing. </p><p>“I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen and you took me fishing for the first time on that rickety boat you stole from Sunhwa’s boyfriend. You remember rowing right into that storm? How I had to fly us both back to shore?” It was a good thing he’d been able to summon his broom in time. “I think the first time my heart beat faster for you was when you were clinging to my back complaining about how you were scared of heights.” </p><p>Seungwoo’s mouth is open, gaping. “That was hardly my finest hour,” he says, climbing to his feet weakly. “I didn’t think you still—“</p><p>“I didn’t want to <em>still</em> either, but I don’t know how to stop.” Fifteen years and he wants to show that he’s grown, but growing <em>out</em> of Seungwoo is a skill Seungsik can’t master. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I don’t—I’ve never expected you to. But I just felt like I needed to say it.”</p><p>“Seungsik—“</p><p>“I’m a little dizzy!” Seungsik stretches his arms above his head with a forced grin and waves to Eunbyul. “I think I’m going to drink some water and get out of the sun. Would you mind watching Eunbyul until Sunhwa comes home?”</p><p>“Of course,” Seungwoo says automatically. “But Sik, we should—“</p><p>“Thank you.” Brushing the hair out of his face, Seungsik gives Seungwoo a wistful smile and heads for the gate. “And—sorry.”</p><p>The last thing he hears is Seungwoo’s voice, carried by the wind. “Don’t be sorry.” </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>When he reaches home and sinks into his favorite armchair, Hanse takes one look at him and curls up on his lap. He’s too big for this, too heavy, his paws digging into Seungsik's skin as he moves around to get comfortable. Seungsik finds it hard to breathe, but the weight is soothing. </p><p><em>You okay?</em> he thinks he hears Hanse ask. </p><p>He takes a breath and strokes Hanse’s fur. “I don’t know,” Seungsik says out loud. He really doesn’t know.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>If Seungsik could go back in time, he thinks he wouldn’t change anything. Not setting out at thirteen, not choosing Yangwon, not falling in love with Seungwoo or watching him leave. He wouldn’t take his confession back either. Better to have it out there and let things work out as they’re meant to. Better to not keep this locked in his chest only to choke on it years later.</p><p>He doesn’t want regrets to weigh him down. And he doesn’t regret any of his decisions—but they hurt nonetheless. When he thinks about Seungwoo, his chest tightens and his heart <em>hurts</em>. </p><p>Regrets or not, he finds himself wallowing in self-pity when the doorbell rings. Hanse raises his head sleepily, eyes narrowing, but doesn’t seem alarmed by whatever he senses on the other side of the door. </p><p>Taking that as a sign to force himself out of bed, Seungsik pads to the door and wrenches it open. There’s no one on the other side, just the gentle patter of rain. He almost shuts the door then and there, but catches a glimpse of a figure retreating into the darkness and it gives him pause.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Seungsik grabs an umbrella off the hook and <em>runs</em>. </p><p>"Seungwoo?" He’d recognize the back of his head anywhere, in any life. “<em>Seungwoo</em>!”</p><p>Seungwoo comes to a halt at the base of the small incline. He’s soaked; water drips down his face, and he looks paler than usual. Seungsik holds the umbrella above his head and clicks his tongue, but Seungwoo speaks first. “Sik, you didn’t have to run after me.” </p><p>"You didn't have to run away." </p><p>“You’re getting wet.” Seungwoo pushes the umbrella back above Seungsik’s head, who stubbornly covers Seungwoo again. They go back and forth for a while until they realize they’re both just being rained on and burst into shared laughter. It feels good to laugh with Seungwoo again; the sound reminds him of falling in love—but more than that too. Of the weightless, effervescently happy feeling being around Seungwoo gives him.  </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seungwoo says finally, as the mirth fades from his face. The umbrella barely covers him, but it barely covers Seungsik too. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter. “I can't stop thinking about what you said. I should’ve responded better.” </p><p>“I—” Seungsik sighs. “I shouldn’t have sprung that on you out of the blue.” </p><p>“I don’t think my inability to hold an intelligent conversation is really your fault.” Seungwoo inhales sharply and pushes his wet hair out of his eyes. “It’s not an issue of timing, just of me.” </p><p>“I’m not sure how to take that.” </p><p>“I know. Give me a moment.” Closing his eyes, Seungwoo rubs his face and swallows. “I left Yangwon to get away from you,” he blurts out, and it takes Seungsik some time to figure out what he means. When he does, the umbrella slips from his hands. “Because I needed space—because <em>you</em> needed space. Because if I stayed I would fall deeper in love with you, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to love me back because I was your saviour or whatever.” </p><p>“Seungwoo,” Seungsik breathes, but Seungwoo holds up a hand to silence him. </p><p>“Let me just say this. I fell in love with you at sixteen, when we went hunting in the woods for bugs to put in Jiyoung’s bed. I remember falling, I remember blood, and I remember you patching me up with whatever you had on hand. The feel of your magic was…” he trails off and looks up, blinking the raindrops away as they fall into his eyes. “It was like nothing else I’d ever experienced before, but I knew the heady, twisting emotion in my stomach was more from the way you were touching me than anything supernatural.” </p><p>Seungsik takes a step forward. Kicks the umbrella out of the way, his hands reaching up to cup Seungwoo’s face. Seungwoo lets him, his gaze warm and gentle. </p><p>“I was scared,” Seungwoo continues. His voice breaks on the last syllable. “I loved you in silence for two years, but I started feeling like I was going to—going to suffocate. Every time we touched, I felt like I’d been lit on fire. I thought if I stayed longer, I’d burn.” </p><p>“You could have <em>said</em> something.”</p><p>“Like you did?” Seungwoo counters, raising an eyebrow. </p><p>“Fair enough,” Seungsik concedes. </p><p>“I didn’t want you to be with me because of obligation, because I helped you way back when and you couldn’t say <em>no</em> to me.” His grin turns mocking, edging on a smirk, but his eyes remain trained on Seungsik’s, still soft. “Who knew it was my pathetic fear of heights that wooed you.” </p><p>“It wasn’t the fear of heights, though I think you shaking in terror was cute too.” Seungsik draws closer. He can count every eyelash, every freckle, every healed scar on Seungwoo’s face. “It’s never been about obligation or what I think I owe you. I love you for a dozen other reasons—because you’re kind, because you’re stupidly reckless sometimes, because you’re brave and never shy away from pursuing your dreams.” </p><p>Seungwoo is quiet. “You’re not just saying this,” he says eventually, searching Seungsik’s face for any sign of deception. </p><p>Instead of answering in words, Seungsik presses his lips to Seungwoo’s. He tastes like rainwater, like sunshine, like first loves and last loves. Seungwoo chases his mouth as he starts to lean back, putting a hand on the back of Seungsik's neck and pulling him in closer, like he's waited for this his whole life, and maybe he <em>has</em>. A sweeping kiss in the rain, Seungsik gasping into Seungwoo's mouth—it feels magical, like the first time he'd flown and felt the world at his fingertips, confident and ecstatic and buoyant. </p><p>When they break apart, Seungsik sees the stars reflected in Seungwoo's eyes. “It’s raining,” Seungsik says quietly. He holds a hand out to Seungwoo, steady and sure. “Come home with me.” </p><p>Seungwoo stumbles forward, takes his hand, and grins. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><hr/><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Seungsik is way, <em>way</em> too good for you,” Sunhwa says, when they show up to Eunbyul’s birthday party holding hands. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at Seungwoo. “I don’t think I can give this my blessing.”</p><p>“Too bad no one cares what you think, noona,” Seungwoo asks lightly, dodging the spatula she tries to hit him with. “But you’re right; he’s too good for me.” He lifts Seungsik’s hand to his mouth and drops a kiss onto the back of it. “Now that I tricked him into dating me, I’m not going to let go.” </p><p>Seungsik laughs and leans against Seungwoo. “I’m not going to let go either! Don’t try to shake me off.” </p><p>“Never,” Seungwoo promises. Behind him, Sunhwa huffs, a small smile dancing on her lips. “<em>Never</em>.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="small">this one's for <b>s</b>, who put up with my ghibli films rewatch. thank you for listening to me rant and for convincing me to not trash this.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="small">thank you for reading ♥</span>
</p></blockquote></div></div>
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